In May 2024, InHabit’s Editor in Chief Annie Brandner sat down with Canadian author and actor Evangeline Lilly at her Vancouver area home. Perhaps best known for her work in film and television on Lost, The Hobbit, and Antman & The Wasp, Lilly has written and published three books in her children’s series The Squickerwonkers and continues to write while on indefinite hiatus from acting. 

In part one of the conversation, Lilly discusses new beginnings in her forties, her spiritual evolution, and moving into the second half of life. She also opens up about her relationship to fame, and what she’s working on now.
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“But while we have no control over time itself, we do have a choice in how we orient to it, how we inhabit the moment, how we own the past and open to the future - a choice that shapes our entire experience of life, that ossuary of time. And just as it bears remembering that there are infinitely many kinds of beautiful lives, it bears remembering that there are infinitely many ways of being in time.” - Maria Popova, The Marginalian 

‍Change of environment

I put on my ski gear, and pull my boot bag up on my back. Covered head to toe, I step outside. My skis are perched on my left shoulder, and my poles are in my right hand. I walk carefully down the snowy path and up through the village to the lift. It’s a sacred ten minutes of meditative rhythmic walking to warm me up for the day ahead. 

New snow has fallen – about twenty centimetres. The snow cats have groomed the mountain during the night. It’s early and I'll be on the first lift up to the slopes. 

This is the change of environment I crave the most at this time in my life. The movement from posed stability to energetic vulnerability, from the familiar to the serendipitous unknown, from the routine to the spontaneous. Here on the mountain I feel like I live life to its fullest. I feel more alive here than anywhere else. Curiosity is my catalyst — I could rest today, I could contemplate other days gone by, but I'm curious:  What will the snow be like? What will my balance and form be like? What shapes of clouds will appear? What breeze will freeze my nose? Where will the trail take me? It is ski season; adventurous, mysterious and invigorating. It provides another form of lifestyle filled with the sort of vulnerability I love.

Of course everyone knows that change is constant, but there is nowhere else in the world where I see, feel, hear, touch and taste this truth more clearly than here on the side of my favourite mountain.

This magic mountain that I've skied for years and years changes all the time. It's ironic really, as it is made of stone and rock, ice and dirt  - elements so strong and stable, so unmoving and unbudgeable, so unforgiving and invincible, yet it is forever changing. Of course everyone knows that change is constant, but there is nowhere else in the world where I see, feel, hear, touch and taste this truth more clearly than here on the side of my favourite mountain. Such a curious phenomenon — this alpine environment that moves and changes constantly, just like me. The weather forecast looks good today, colder than yesterday, but mostly sunny in the morning with the wind rising in the afternoon. Of course, this could change too.

‍Letting change flow

Arriving at the base of the mountain, I put on my ski boots, tuck my shoes away for the day, and once again perch my skis on my shoulder. I use my poles to help me navigate the steps up to the gates; it’s the beginning of the season and this morning routine of getting to the lifts still has me feeling a bit winded as I get used to the altitude. My friend is waiting for me. She and I smile brightly at each other and, seconds later, the buzzer goes off and the gates are activated. We are the first ones through, proud of ourselves for our early rising and excited to experience the thrill of another ski day together. We banter about the beautiful day ahead, our slight aches and pains and need for some stretching.

My friend is confident and bold — an expert skier. Me, I am not as confident and I am no expert. But I am bold, and she inspires me. Most of all, I am grateful for the change of scenery, communing with nature and the joy of being together again on the mountain.

Tensing up in anticipation of a coming bump or turn will surely cause a fall. The key to serenity on skis is letting change flow, becoming one with the change, and then being the change.

As we descend each run at our own pace, our skis pushing us beyond our unique comfort zones, we each experience individualized moments in the quiet rhythm of skiing. Every day on the slope is different, every turn of every carve into the snow is different, at times smooth and other times choppy. At all times, our minds must stay connected to our bodies. It is invigorating and mystifying, as we must disconnect from all worries and all other actions and stay absolutely present. Tensing up in anticipation of a coming bump or turn will surely cause a fall. The key to serenity on skis is letting change flow, becoming one with the change, and then being the change. 

After a few hours of skiing our favourite trails, I tell my friend I want to stop at a lookout spot, not because I’m tired but because I want to breathe in my surroundings. She says she’ll let me have a bit of alone time and we decide she’ll do another run and meet me back here. The sky is vast and filled with a multitude of blue hues, the clouds are fantastical and bright white. The fresh cold air is thinner up here; it smells minty as it passes through my nostrils and it tastes minerally as it drips down my throat. The steam rises from my scarf as I breathe in and out, feeling the warmth of my body. This change of environment is essential to my well-being. It’s not just any change of environment though. 

‍Chrono-diversity

It’s being up at altitude that thrills me most. The physicist Carlo Rovelli in his book “The Order of Time” captures the essence of my pause at the lookout spot. He writes, 

“I stop and do nothing. Nothing happens. I am thinking about nothing. I listen to the passing of time. This is time, familiar and intimate. We are taken by it…. Our being is being in time.”

I lived and worked in this village just below the slopes for ten years, all through my thirties, and now that I am retired, I return here as much as possible. Initially when I moved away, down to sea level and no longer at altitude, it took me a long time to adjust and to adapt to being in a different time zone, but not just a different chronometric time zone, but a different “chrono-atmospheric” time zone. 

I am fascinated by the way Rovelli explains how altitude changes time. He writes, “Let’s begin with a simple fact: time passes faster in the mountains than it does at sea level…

I am fascinated by the way Rovelli explains how altitude changes time. He writes, “Let’s begin with a simple fact: time passes faster in the mountains than it does at sea level… This slowing down can be detected between levels just a few centimetres apart: a clock placed on the floor runs a little more slowly than one on a table. It is not just the clocks that slow down: lower down, all processes are slower.” 

When I read this, I started to understand and accept why I had found it so challenging to transition from life up on the mountain to life in the valley. All of my processes had to become slower; my mental and physical, even spiritual relationships towards time had to change in order for me to adapt and to adjust to my new surroundings. It was a very unnerving time at first, and I found myself longing to return to the mountains. Despite the fact that I enjoyed my new job, raising my children and making new friends in a different culture, my personal processes, like my coping mechanisms, had slowed down and I needed to give myself time to accept the newness of this “chrono-diversity” at sea level.  

Some consider winter a time to slow down and rest, imitating elements of nature that hibernate and tuck in to escape the cold. But for me, it is this change of environment, this other way of being in time, this speeding up and expanding of time, that I long for in the winter months.

During those years, my friend stayed in the mountains; she never returned to life in the valley. And I believe this makes us different in the way we now measure time. Maybe her time does actually pass more quickly than mine? She is a speed queen and can get a million things done in one day. She thinks faster than I think, and certainly skis faster than I ski. 

Some consider winter a time to slow down and rest, imitating elements of nature that hibernate and tuck in to escape the cold. But for me, it is this change of environment, this other way of being in time, this speeding up and expanding of time, that I long for in the winter months. It’s the rigour and rhythm of mountain time. Rovelli writes, 

‍“Two friends separate, with one of them living in the plains and the other going to live in the mountains. They meet up again years later: the one who has stayed down has lived less, aged less, the mechanism of his cuckoo clock has oscillated fewer times. He has had less time to do things, his plants have grown less, his thoughts have had less time to unfold ... Lower down, there is simply less time than at altitude.” 

I guess the proof is “in the physics.” As I’ve learned, it is the changeability of time in the mountains that keeps me skiing through life. Even if it seems a bit ironic and mysterious to me, I imagine I will always feel this type of change to be constant in my life. Though I suppose, that could change too.

It worked well for a long time. People were very good to me — I didn't have a lot of criticism or negative press. I didn't have a lot of haters, even during some controversial things. When I was cast in The Hobbit, it was controversial because my character wasn't in the books — some people were very unhappy with that. But I never felt like it turned into a big Hate Evangeline Lilly fest. 

And I really think that's because I didn't actually exist — I never showed up as my real, full, self. And I did that on purpose. I was afraid that if I existed — really existed — then they would hate me or be disappointed by me. I was afraid they would want to tear me down or hurt me. So it was just easier and better not to exist. 

When did that change? When would you say you started showing up as your full self? 

I'm doing it right now. I mean, it's brand new. I'm not even sure that I've fully done it yet. 

I'm not engaged in the business at all right now, so I don't have a lot of opportunities to practise that, which has been quite freeing. It's freed me up to pursue things like this that I might not have otherwise done – smaller, more intimate outlets, things that actually just interest me, that I care about, that are outside of pop culture. In these very, what I would call safe and caring places, I've been able to dip my toes in the water of actually existing, bringing myself to the table and saying, “This is who I am.” 

So far it feels like I’m at the beginning of something new. I don't know what, but I feel it. I don't know where we're going now, and I don't know if I'll ever go back to acting. But if I do, it will not look how it looked in the first half of my life. Whatever happens next, it feels like a new thing. A new beginning where I'm actually really, fully here now. 

On writing

You’ve been a writer for as long as you can remember. And you've now published three children's books. What has it been like to share your writing with the world? 

It’s been a long journey. 

I produced the first Squickerwonkers book with Johnny Fraser Allen of the Weta Workshop while we were in New Zealand filming The Hobbit. I felt like I had died and gone to heaven; I was living my best life. I was working on set and then on my days off I would get up at six in the morning and go into Wētā Workshop to work on the book. I could work 15 hours a day on the book and still wake up energised to get to set the next day because I was so full with my passion and my joy. 

I brought that book to the San Diego Comic-Con and made all my money back in one Comic-Con. I thought, Oh my gosh! It's even a working business model! I figured we would make a whole series, I would self publish, and it would be as euphoric as that first experience. 

Then the reality set in of what it means to become a publisher and to learn how to produce books on a schedule, in a series. It was an enormous administrative and logistical challenge, and I had no idea what I was doing. Those elements ended up taking up so much time that I didn't have time to write the books. I was spending 90% of my professional writing life doing the work of a CEO. And I am not a CEO; I am a creative, an artist. 
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Did you consider finding a publisher? 

After The Squickerwonkers was so warmly received, I did reach out to publishers. I went to one of the big publishing houses, and the children's book editor there really didn't want to meet with me. She came to the meeting very reluctantly, and at first wouldn't even sit in the room with me. It was clear she saw me as a celebrity trying to publish a children's book as opposed to a “real author.” 

That felt like a constant uphill climb. On a business level, people were eager to publish my book because they figured it would be an easy sell — no marketing required. But on a creative level, there was a lot of resistance. They saw me as a celebrity with — not even a pet project, but worse than that — a vanity project. 

It was difficult to know how to navigate that as someone who had stumbled into acting by accident, and didn’t think of it as central to who I was. But writing? I have always been a writer; I’ve been writing since I was eight. Some of the times I feel most alive are when I'm writing. 

What’s happening with the Squickerwonkers now? 

I’m actually back to a beautiful, euphoric, joyful experience like the one I had with Johnny Fraser Allen at the Weta Workshop. But this time, it’s with my new illustrator, Rodrigo Basto Didier. It’s just him and me in the creative process without any of the admin, logistics or sales. It's pure joy. Right now, we’re illustrating book five and I'm writing book six of the series. 

I’ve stopped publishing and selling the books for now. My plan is to build up the series until it's finished and then hand it off. I’ll do it differently now that I've realized I'm a writer and not a publisher. 

What else are you working on these days? 

I'm working on a memoir that chronicles very closely this journey I've taken in the last five years into the second half of my life. And the healing that was required for me to do that. In order to get there, I do take you through the journey of how I became an actress — that wild, strange twist of fate and the journey it took me on. I spend a lot of my time working on that right now. 

So this is one of your new beginnings — to tell your story on your own terms? 

Yes. You nailed it. That's exactly it. It feels like if I'm going to move forward into this next chapter, I need to put the old one to bed. And this feels like a very cathartic way to do that. 

If you had to name this chapter in your life, what would you call it? It's allowed to have subheadings. 

Well, the problem is I'm writing a memoir, so I actually know what it's called. Do I share the working title of my memoir? What if it becomes the actual title, then it's sort of spoiled? [Laughs]

Can you thesaurus it in your head and give me an alternative version? 

Exactly. [Laughs] Okay, This chapter of my life. [Pause] “Playing in the mess.” And the subtitle would be “and really enjoying it.” 

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In part two of our conversation, coming next month, Lilly opens up about acting — as a craft and an industry. She reflects on the disconnect between virtual reality and real life, shares her intentional practices for engaging in her online space, and her passion for creating better, deeper conversations. 

Join our mailing list to find out when part two is live.